


Acid and Ukuleles

by distinguished_like



Category: Beatle Girls, Jane Asher - Fandom, John Lennon - Fandom, Paul McCartney - Fandom, The Beatles
Genre: 1967, Beatles Slash, Brief drug use, Multi, Sexual Content, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 18:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distinguished_like/pseuds/distinguished_like
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whilst holidaying in Greece, Jane makes an exciting discovery.</p><p>Jane realises that she is very interested in what she finds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acid and Ukuleles

**Author's Note:**

> Complete work of fiction, nothing is real - this is all just a fraction of my imagination.
> 
> All mistakes are my own.
> 
> This is a one-shot F/M/M threesome smut fic. I sincerely hope you enjoy it; let me know, will you? Comments are more than welcome!

Jane’s feeling, to put it frankly, pretty shit.

She’s typically optimistic and excitable, _lives_ to work and have fun in between, but being locked up in a stranger’s house, being forced to spend time with people she’s _still_ unsure about (some of which she _knows_ her father would hate and would warn her to stay away from), and overheating every time she steps out of the range of a fan even on its most powerful setting isn’t really giving her the usual ‘buzz’ of holiday fun that you’d expect to feel when staying in Greece, despite only having been there for little over a day.

Her face is sore now, too – she’s been sat in one place for the past hour or so, not moving, not shifting, an immovable object blending in with the rest of the room, and she’s had a childish pout fixed onto her pale features for even longer, ever since they returned from the Delphi theatre. They were all _supposed_ to be watching a performance of ‘Agamemnon’, by Aeschylus, but that ‘Magic’ Alex had blown everybody’s cover and opened his mouth to all of Greece that the famous Beatles would be viewing the show, and upon arrival, _everybody_ had to leave instantly, to prevent some _stupid_ mobbing.

Jane had _really_ wanted to go – she’s an actress, afterall; it’s in her own right to want to see masterpieces like Aeschylus’ works, if not just to silently critic the Oxford University Dramatic Society on their performances; the perfect distraction from Greece, the perfect distraction from her overwhelming boredom.

So far, the only person to acknowledge her from the sofa has been Cynthia.

Jane liked Cynthia – she was one of those women you know was just _born_ to be a mother, which made her appear instantly friendly, her presence always comforting. Many women are not born for the same purpose. Jane knows she isn’t one of these women – she’d _like_ a family, one day. Maybe with Paul, maybe not. Paul’s one of those men who were _born_ to be a father, but he’s gone over the rainbow and beyond the moon all too quickly, what with his rock star lifestyle and freelance attitude to drugs and alcohol, and Jane’s realised that if he’s going to be a father, he’s going to have to wait for the right time, and possibly for the right _woman._ Regretfully, she doubts that that woman will turn out to be herself.

Jane loves him. She knows she does, without a doubt. Many state that the ‘star couple’ of Jane and Paul were brought together through fame alone, to give the public a physical idea of what the perfect relationship _should_ look like – but they’re not perfect at all, so Jane knows that the many that believe this are undoubtedly wrong.

They had a row when they got back from Delphi.

Jane complained, offered to stay at the theatre by herself and represent the whole group, just to cure her own boredom.

Paul couldn’t be doing with it, he kept on reminding her. Thought she was just complaining, being a whiny little brat. ‘ _I can’t be fucking doing with this, Jane,’_ he’d said. ‘ _We’re on holiday – learn to fuckin’ enjoy yourself, will you?’_

He’d hidden himself away in their shared bedroom after that, and she hadn’t heard from him since. To be honest, everybody seemed to disappear with him after that. She knew that Ringo and the other lads – Neil, Mal and Alistair – were all with Alex, because she could hear their voices flowing into the spacious lounge from the dining room, faint but just about audible. They were talking about crazy inventions, mad ideas and how to make them possible, which seemed to be their favourite thing to do so far, thanks to Alex. Cynthia ushered away soon after checking up on Jane, announcing that she’d better be putting Julian to bed.

Pattie, ever the socialite, offered to let Jane sit in with her and her sister, Paula, in Paula’s room; have a soft drink and chat for a while – she claimed that after an argument, it’s helpful to talk about it all rather than bottle it up. According to Paula, bottling things like that up tends to ‘build more tension’, and ‘prolong the course of the domestic disagreements.’

However, Jane reckons that Paula and Pattie might have just wanted in on some gossip, the two of them most likely being, at that time, just as bored as Jane was, so she politely declined their offer.

Alex’s white loveseat was beginning to feel lumpy and uncomfortable beneath Jane – her back ached from stillness and her eyes drooped, because she _was_ tired, honestly. She just wasn’t prepared to deal with Paul yet, to sleep in the same bed as him – she liked that it would always be _him_ to apologise, and she _firmly_ wanted it to stay that way.

Jane sighed loudly and heaved herself up off the couch, groaning as she looked down to find her new white dress wrinkled and creased from being sat on it for so long.

Her legs felt like jelly as she made her way to the kitchen area, opening the fridge, and staring blankly into it.

She didn’t know what she fancied to eat – she was just _bored;_ she had nothing better to do, and so all she could think to do was eat.

 _May aswell grab something anyway,_ she decided, and took a swig of milk straight out of the carton, feeling rather disgusting for doing so but eh, nobody was around, really.

Having chugged down some milk, she wiped her mouth and frowned. It was _so quiet,_ so _eerily quiet_ to what she would normally expect from holidaying with Paul and the rest of the boys, their families and their other close friends. She’d expected drunken Beatle escapades, laughs and fun on a yacht that had unfortunately been delayed for a few days and then, y’know, what else do adults do on holiday? _Sex,_ obviously, she’d expected, but at the rate Paul and herself were going with each other she doubted even _that_ was reachable.

Suddenly, breaking the gloomy silence, a loud bellow of laughter came from behind the glass doors leading to the wooden veranda.

Jane frowned and shrugged, walking towards the doors and yanking them open with some slight effort.

The warmth hit her like having a thick blanket thrown over her; humid and still and for a second, she could barely breathe and stumbled back before she took a deep, heavy breath and turned her head to find George sat with his legs dangling off the edge of the wooden platform, strumming his fingers mindlessly over the ukulele he held in his large hands, made to look even smaller than what it was due to how he handled it.

Jane frowned.

“George?” She started, taking a step closer to him. “Erm, George, what were you laughing at?”

“The sky,” George replied, his voice slow and hazed over like he was speaking from a dream. He strummed the ukulele again, slowly, and then in one harsh action, slid his fingers down the neck to create a _very_ high pitched chord that he strummed out hard and fast, making it seem louder. Jane cringed at the sound. George giggled and stared at the uke in awe. “Wow, that – that was beautiful, that was.”

_Oh._

Jane sighed and placed her hands on her hips, rolling her eyes. George was at it again, that _dreadful_ drug. Acid. Jane just couldn’t understand it – why on _Earth_ everybody suddenly wanted to try it so much, why they were all becoming so _obsessed_ with it. Jane had seen Paul tripping on LSD on about two occasions, and he was just awful. _Awful –_ Jane _pitied_ him – he was all over the place, talking and walking and just generally _acting_ like a lunatic.

Although, Paul had told Jane that he didn’t really like it that much, and that it had all started because he had wanted to experience it with _John_ , _for_ John, and so, she let it slide.

Which reminded her.

George was tripping _alone_.

Where _was_ John?

“Hey, George,” she began, frowning down at the back of his head, granted he hadn’t looked up at her _once_ since she had joined him outside. “Where’s John?”

“ _Everywhere_ ,” George answered, chuckling rather darkly to himself, increasing Jane’s discomfort.

Jane rolled her eyes. “Right. Thanks.”

George never replied and so Jane shrugged and spun around somewhat majestically and hopped over the threshold of the patio doors, returning to the lounge area and unknowingly letting out a relieved sigh as she made her way past the fan, blowing a cool breeze over her.

Before she could really stop herself, she found that she had started to walk down the hallway to her and Paul’s bottom floor bedroom, and she stopped outside the door, hesitating slightly.

She had a feeling that she _probably_ shouldn’t bother him yet – maybe wait for _him_ to find _her,_ as she normally would do, but it was getting ridiculously late and she was tremendously bored and maybe she could shine a positive light on it and gloat that, _hey,_ she hadn’t cowered away from the situation, such as a coward would do.

So, she opened the door.

But could go no further.

Jane choked on her own breath as she entered and took barely a _step_ into the room, only able to open the door a fraction before she was forced and petrified into stone, her blue eyes gaping at the sights before her, her mouth dropping open and it _felt_ like her heart had stopped beating and the whole world had stopped turning, or like she had fallen off it and was floating across the universe, lost as to where she should be, no gravity tying her down to _anything_.

The first thing she saw was John, John’s unmistakable frame; she’d seen him topless before and he had a recognisable body, somehow; he had broad shoulders and wasn’t too thin at all, despite having lost a considerable amount of weight over a very short amount of time.

He was facing the wall and other than his body, what made her realise it was _him_ was his hair – how it was shorter at the back than it was at the front and how it had recently been getting a lot lighter, a relatable colour to copper by then.

Jane’s eyes browsed over _far_ more than what she really wanted them too, because John was _naked._ Completely naked in front of her, and her eyes trailed down to his arse and watched with wanderlusted eyes as the tight muscles in his cheeks clenched and unclenched as his hips – which, she realised for the first time, were indeed noticeable and pointed, unlike most men’s – grinded forward and into _something_ with force and determination and–

_Oh._

_Then_ she found _Paul._

He was bent over forward, his face being forced against the white wall of the bedroom and facing _away_ from the door, towards where the double-bed was in the centre of the room, meaning Jane couldn’t see his face but she could recognise him by his hair, first of all – that dark, raven hair that he’d let grow out slightly and was growing wavy and John had a _hand in it_ and his fingers were grooming through Paul’s locks, as his other hand gripped Paul’s waist tightly as he thrust – oh, _God –_ thrust into _him,_ into _her Paul,_ and for whatever reason Jane couldn’t bring herself to do anything, to _say_ anything, to even _think_ anything as she watched the two of them, her fiancé and his best friend fucking him against a wall right before her.

She should be angry, should be wanting to tear her red locks right out of her scalp and cave down into a complete body of anger and hurt, but…

But Jane was _interested._

She’d heard of _these_ sort of people all her life, but all she’d ever _really_ heard of was the bad side of them, heard scientists and doctors on the telly talking about how there’s a medicine to change the way people like _that_ feel, the way they think – even Jane’s own father had talked about it, _over dinner,_ even, and Jane had thought nothing of it at the time.

But she’d never _witnessed_ it with her own eyes, had remained blissfully unaware of what it was like and what _happened_ between these sorts of people her whole life, but she couldn’t dust it under the rug anymore, couldn’t deny herself of the part of her mind that sparked up as she felt like she was right in the middle of something paramount and exclusive and… slightly… rather…

_Beautiful._

Jane forgot herself as that single word entered her thoughts and gasped aloud, surprising herself and slapping a freckled hand over her lips the moment she realised what she had done.

Paul didn’t move, didn’t even _flinch_ as he kept his hands pressed against the wall to hold himself up.

But John’s neck snapped towards her, and his eyes were wide and – not really _alarmed,_ but more… more just a _cknowledging,_ like all he had discovered was a rather insignificant piece of news rather than the fiancé of the man he was shagging in front of her watching him at it.

Jane found herself staring right back at John, gazing straight back into those cloudy brown eyes and watched as John’s thin lips lifted into a sinister grin, and then the connection was broken.

John leaned down, thrusting harder into Paul, and his mouth was pressing to Paul’s ear and Jane realised that he was kissing him – not only that, licking and sucking and _biting_ on Paul’s skin and he was _teasing_ her, he was showing off that he’d claimed Paul as his own that night and Jane couldn’t even deny it, because just then, Jane barely just recognised the voice coming from Paul as _her_ Paul’s voice – he sounded like a _completely_ different man, and Jane hoped that the groans John was eliciting from him had nothing to do with the fact that it was _him_ and more to do with the fact that Paul was a useless, randy _bastard_ , but then–

“Oh, _fuck,_ Johnny – fuck _me,_ Johnny, faster, _oh, please…_ ”

Those weren’t _just_ pleasured chants.

Those pleading _begs_ were for _John_ to hear, and for no one else.

Jane felt _dirty_ to be intruding.

Without really realising she had done it, Jane took another tentative step forward and had already closed the door behind her, never taking her eyes off John and Paul, watching them with wonder.

John’s voice filled the room.

“Paulie, would ye’ just _look_ at what we have here,” he whispered, quirking his eyes to peer at Jane, smirking devilishly at her. He lowered his hand from Paul’s hair and yanked him up off the wall by his hips and, because of this action, brought Paul’s arse further down onto his cock and Jane was utterly mesmerised by the long moan that was pulled out of Paul’s mouth, dragging on like the closest thunder bolt in a storm, rumbling, and Paul let his head lull back onto John’s sweat ridden shoulder.

John chuckled darkly and pressed a firm kiss to Paul’s cheek before raising his hand up to Paul’s face, stroking down his jawline softly with the tip of his thumb, and then pushing Paul’s head to the side, still letting him lean on his shoulder as now _Paul_ spotted Jane stood there.

His hazel eyes were hazed over with lust, his eyelids drooping in ecstasy and that didn’t even _look_ like _her_ Paul, this was a different Paul _entirely_ , this–

This was _John’s_ Paul.

Paul licked his lips and his eyes closed completely, and John then pressed into him slowly, carefully placing the side of Paul’s face against the wall, once again facing him _away_ from Jane.

But John smirked straight at her.

“Did you see that, Paulie?” He whispered, his voice husky and still somehow loud enough to echo through the whole room and reach Jane’s ears. “You see your lovely Janey come to see the show? Come to watch me _fuck_ you senseless, eh?” Paul groaned again, long and loud, and John moved slowly out of him, and then _pounded_ back into him again, making Paul’s whole body tremble. “Bet she’s never seen you like _this_ before, has she? The way _I’ve_ seen you – bet she’s never seen you this vulnerable, hm? But oh, she _loves_ it, she does – don’t you, Jane?”

Jane let out yet another gasp despite herself at being _directly_ addressed to for the first time, and the question hit her like a ton of bricks.

Her hand slowly trailed down her slim physique, over the forgotten creases of her dress until she reached her bare thigh, just above her knee, and she trailed her finger tips slowly across the skin, tickling herself and _oh, there it was, before she had even reached it –_ a strangely familiar tingling and pulsing in her clit and then she knew the answer to John’s question, and he understood without having to hear an audible answer.

He grinned smugly and stroked a hand down Paul’s spine softly. “Yeah, Paulie, you should – _ugh, God –_ you should _see_ her, look – she wants to touch herself, Paul – watching you like this; she’s horny, oh _, yes_ , oh, she _is_ …”

John looked up at her again, met Jane’s blue eyes with his dark brown ones and licked his top lip and Jane fumbled one soft finger up the skirt of her dress, knowing that this shouldn’t be happening and that she shouldn’t even be _remotely_ turned on by this, but she’d always had a _thing_ for the unusual, for the rarities, and _damn_ her for it but she was _so_ turned on by the sight before her, so drawn into it all.

Her fingernail stroked one straight line gently over her clit through her slightly damp underwear and she bit down on her bottom lip, needing _more_ but unable to tear her attention away from John and Paul.

She didn’t even have to _think_ about it when she started to move forward, take small but quick steps further into the room as John beckoned her to him and she found that she was suddenly stood there, stood in the direction that Paul was facing, herself facing away from the bed behind her and having full view of both of the men’s bodies in front of her, and John thrust into her fiancé more and more and Paul groaned but kept his eyes fixed on Jane and then–

John was pulling her towards his side, holding her slim, curved waist with his large hand then he leaned closer to her rather than bringing her closer to him and he _kissed her,_ kissed her hard and rough and _wet_ and Paul was _watching, watching_ John snog Jane senseless and she was leaning up on her bare tip-toes, searching for more, forgetting that it was John Lennon that she was kissing right in front of the man she loved, but it didn’t matter, didn’t matter because Jane had seen Paul doing _more,_ and John was paying Jane back, as if showing off to each of them what he could do, the things he could to do the _both_ of them, Jane _and_ Paul, and then the warm hand on Jane’s waist was gone and was fumbling with the zip trailing down her back, and before she could process it, her dress was loose and the thin sleeves over her freckled shoulders were falling, and John’s tongue was out of her mouth and he was breathing over her face instead, spreading more heat between the three of them.

“Off,” he demanded, his voice sharp and stern. “Show Paulie your body, Jane – show our Paul what seeing him this way has done to you, will you, love?”

Jane nodded her head and, almost like she was tuned in to John’s words, like she had no other choice to do as he told her to but, not only that, she _wanted to,_ looked straight at Paul and she _smirked right at him,_ like _she_ had control over him now, and he groaned out her name in that familiar but simultaneously completely foreign voice to her and she shrugged her shoulders, letting the short sleeves drop down to her elbows and, as she straightened out her arms, the dress fell to the ground around her bare feet.

She hadn’t worn a bra that day – the weather was _too hot_ to bother with more layers and so she now stood there, her pale body exposed completely besides her high cotton knickers resting over her hips and she grinned as Paul’s mouth gaped open at the sight before him, as his dozy eyes scanned over her whole body, her reddened, peaked nipples, and over the figure that he knew so well and loved so much.

Without warning, John’s warm, strong hands were tugging at Jane’s underwear and, as if he had given up with trying to get them _off,_ he dived his hand _in_ them instead, grazing over Jane’s unshaved pubic hairs and dipping further to the wetness of her hole, the amalgamate tips of his fingers grazing over her clitoris with somewhat expert strokes and rotations and general movements and Jane’s mouth opened into an ‘O’ shape, her neck failing to hold her head up right as she let it fall back slightly, her long, red hair tickling the small of her back as she bucked down onto John’s hands and John hummed in arousal, grinding his prick into Paul’s arse again.

Jane wanted _more,_ needed _more_ than just _foreplay,_ and John knew it, _he fucking knew it,_ but he kept her on edge, her peak of pleasure constantly getting closer, and then slipping away again until John would bring it right back by moving his fingers around the sensitive wetness that now covered her parts completely, and she could hear the slapping of John’s wet fingers against the sides of the tops of her thighs and it was filthy and sexy and before she could process it her underwear was dropped to her ankles and she stepped out of it willingly, but there was the pressure of John’s hand against her clit lost and she felt naked in every aspect, but she couldn’t care _less._

“Our lovely Lady Janey wants dealing with, Paulie,” John chimed, stroking his hand over Paul’s hard prick and once again squeezing out sounds of pleasure and lust from Paul. “D’you want to see to her, baby? Want to _pound_ into her like your Johnny does to you, eh?” John smirked as Paul whimpered and nodded his head against the wall, and he pulled himself out of Paul, grabbing Paul’s hips and spinning him around to face him.

And John kissed Paul like _nothing_ Jane had seen before – kissed him with passion and forcefulness and, somewhere, there was love, there was a deep, transcending _love_ that flowed through the two of them like an electric current and it completely blew Jane away.

But then Paul’s arms were around _her_ waist, caressing _her_ with such gentleness that felt feathery in comparison to John’s fierceness, and he kissed Jane’s reddened and bruised lips softly and with caution, though his lips were wet and it was still, despite his thorough care, rather messy.

“Lie on the bed, love,” Paul begged with some urgency to his voice, and Jane smirked against his lips, nipping his bottom lip between her teeth before spinning around and walking to the bed, climbing over it on all-fours before lying down on the cushions, gazing with lust filled eyes over at both John and Paul, who stared at her in what seemed to be enchanted awe.

Eventually, Jane ran her hand down her body, raising goose bumps over her skin wherever her hand wandered, before she settled it between her legs and closed her eyes as she slid two fingers slowly over her clit and pressed them into her still wet hole with ease, biting down on her lip and arching her back as she did so, putting on some sort of a show for John and Paul.

She opened up one eye, raising an eyebrow at the both of them individually.

She grinned as John moved forward, rubbing his lasting hardness against Paul’s thigh and pressing a kiss to the crook inbetween Paul’s neck and shoulder, grinding against him slightly before grabbing his arse cheek tightly in his large hand and whispering an urgent: _“Go on, baby,”_ into his ear.

Paul, of course, obeyed.

Paul climbed onto the bed and spread Jane’s knees apart, his touch soft against her delicate skin. He pumped himself a few times with a spit-ridden hand until his length glistened with the natural lubricant of his saliva, and he moved forward, leaning down and taking a moment to swirl his tongue expertly over Jane’s erect nipples before lifting himself up and kissing her lips, now with lust and want and _need._

Jane let out a soft moan as she felt the tip of Paul’s cock rub against her clit and he dragged his tongue over her bottom lip, moving his hips up and down slightly to repeat the movements with great strain on himself, before placing two of his fingers there instead, rubbing softly over her.

“John?” He asked after, turning his head away from Jane slightly, searching for John, who was stood by the bed, watching them intently.

“Mhm?” He replied, licking his lips as he eyed up Paul hungrily.

“Condom,” he stated. “Chuck us one, please?”

John did as he was asked and Paul ripped the packet open with his teeth, keeping his two fingers on one hand working away at Jane, keeping her satisfied as he concentrated on seeking protection.

Jane let her eyes flutter closed and waited, waited until she felt a furthermore spit covered rubber head push against her hole and she tilted her head back in anticipation, waiting for Paul to continue, waiting to be _filled_.

And _oh,_ she wasn’t disappointed _–_ Paul slid into her slowly, knowing _exactly_ how to go about this with Jane, and she moaned throughout the single push, pushing down onto him, the sensation of being filled completely leading her on further.

And then Paul thrust into her, with hardness and forcefulness and need and he grumbled low against Jane’s chest, sucking at parts of her skin, licking over her collar bones before quickly thrusting again, and again, and Jane pressed down on him and he was going _so quickly,_ his hip movements rabid and erratic but oh, so _good,_ so _perfect;_ there was a slapping sound filling the room, rhythmic slaps as Paul’s balls clapped against Jane’s arse with each movement and it just urged her on further, and then–

Oh, then a _completely new_ sound was added to the room, strange and exclusive and then Paul groaned loudly and Jane watched as his eyes fluttered shut in further ecstasy and he fell forward, resting his sweaty forehead against Jane’s warm chest and thrusting into her, still hard and steady but slower, and then the new sound filled Jane’s head entirely, and as she looked around the room she realised that John was nowhere to be seen.

Wet sounds of slurping and tongue slapping against flesh came from behind Paul and _that’s_ where John was, behind Paul, his mouth latched onto Paul’s hole and it was driving Paul over the edge, Jane realised, and she knew that John was working on himself, too – pumping himself hard and fast and at the same time working away at Paul, so Jane reached her hand down to her clit, stroking fast and fierce over and over and then she came, her bottom half spasming slightly and along with her climax she arched her back upwards, pressing down onto Paul’s prick and Paul managed to regain control over his hips, moving harder and faster for himself.

“ _Johnny,”_ he managed, his breathing mangled as he pumped into Jane. “John, baby, c’mon, s’okay – fill me up, luv.”

And then with one final hard purge forward into Jane, indicating John’s entrance once again inside of Paul, Paul came and continued to ride his orgasm out, letting John pound into him and Jane watched as John came undone into Paul, his head falling back and his eyes closed, his mouth falling open very slightly and for the first time in her life, Jane saw a John Lennon that was undone, was wild and youthful and somewhat confusingly _beautiful_ before her.

Jane sighed loudly and ran a hand through Paul’s slightly dampened hair as he pulled out of her and lay beside her, one arm draped lazily over her stomach, and he pressed a soft, chaste kiss to her cheek.

Then there was another warm body pressed against her other side, curling up against her and placing his arm over her to stroke through Paul’s hair with affection, affection Jane had never seen him use on even _Cynthia,_ and though it was wrong and strange and _unthinkable_ , Jane smiled.

John noticed, and grinned up at her cheekily.

“Well…” he started. “That was quite fun, I think.”

Jane stared at him in utter disbelief, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open, appalled at how John could try to make a _joke_ out of what had just happened between the three of them – but then she heard Paul snort with laughter into her shoulder, and when she looked at John again, his face was buried into the blankets on the bed and his head was bobbing up and down slightly, his laughter muffled against the mattress.

Jane looked up at the ceiling, asking the skies when the _hell_ had she become this sort of woman?

But as the two boys who were in love, and the boy who loved her, and the boy _she_ was in love with laughed madly, hysterically, on either side of her, she gave up completely.

She smiled widely and let out a giggle, and then a full blown laugh. She let her head rest against the top of John’s hair as she shook with her own content, happy, giggly fits of laughter, and her hand found Paul’s, and she clasped it tightly.

Jane’s feeling, _to put it frankly,_ pretty fucking wonderful.


End file.
